


Enthralled

by ultrapsychobrat



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-28
Updated: 2010-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-08 09:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultrapsychobrat/pseuds/ultrapsychobrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an AU, sort of.  Basically, it follows the canon beginnings of the show, but with a slight variation.  Also, there may be more to this at some later time--totally maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enthralled

Story inspired by Alfred Bryan's poem.

Enthralled

TEACH me to sin--   
In love's forbidden ways,   
For you can make all passion pure;   
The magic lure of your sweet eyes   
Each shape of sin makes virtue praise.

Teach me to sin--   
Enslave me to your wanton charms,   
Crush me in your velvet arms   
And make me, make me love you.   
Make me fire your blood with new desire,   
And make me kiss you--lip and limb,   
Till senses reel and pulses swim.   
Aye! even if you hate me,   
Teach me to sin.

 

There'd been too many people in the room—too many eyes turned upon him, too many mouths speaking incomprehensible words, too many bodies jostling for space. Drowning in the noise and confusion, he'd sought a place apart, a place of peace.

The rows of empty seats had offered silence, at least. He'd sunk into a functional chair with a small sigh of relief. Four months…how was he ever supposed to endure another four months of this tedious insanity? The one abiding horror of his life had been boredom, and the hours had dragged unbearably these past months—no one to talk to, nothing to talk about with these cretins. Only while working and reworking his escape plan, trying to find some small something he'd overlooked which would insure his own safety, had he found anything to occupy the endless days. He had come very near to screaming madness.

He'd looked down at this plan which might buy his freedom if he were very, very careful. A cold chill of apprehension had skittered up his spine, raising the hair on his neck. His skin had felt over-sensitized, awake to every current of air, every cell charged and waiting to ground.

It was therefore his body that had felt the man's presence before his mind had become aware of him. Gritting his teeth against the sudden, painful snap, as energy arced between them, he'd raised his head, waiting...Blake.

The man was an idealistic fool. He had spoken of little but his 'cause' since that first day when they had all been herded onto the cramped ship—cattle to the slaughter house. And what a spokesman he'd made—tall, sincere—a veritable legend, perhaps a bit tarnished, but a legend none-the-less. He had watched this paragon closely, searching for flaws, unwilling to accept altruism as a possible motive for anyone. Even martyrs died for glory. It had amused him to see the others fall for those smooth words and the ready smile. They were all such easy game, no challenge at all for the skilled hunter. He'd denied the melting warmth that had flowed through his veins like honey whenever they'd happened to touch, and the breath that had refused to release whenever their eyes had happened to meet—cool, clear eyes that had promised rest and haven, that had held him captive, that had spoken of places where the fires of hell could never reach.

He'd heard the long, indrawn breath, known he was about to be asked again for his compliance. Hadn't he made it clear enough all the times before? No. He would not be drawn into the man's hopeless scheme. Let the others get themselves killed in a futile battle against maniacs like Raiker. That sadist would've welcomed any excuse to shoot them all on sight. Whereas, if his own plan worked, it would net the same result with one major difference—he would be alive. Blake had sat in the chair across from him, trying to act nonchalant, no doubt.

"If you had access to the computer, could you open the doors?"

"Of course. Why?" Avon hadn't met the eyes he could feel focused on him, preferring to breathe without restriction. He would not be drawn into that mess.

"Just wondered how good you really were."

Oh, yes, of course you had. Avon had smiled faintly. "Don't try and manipulate me, Blake." It had been almost funny how transparent the fool was.

"Now, why should I try and do that?" Blake had asked innocently.

"You need my help." Nothing new.

"Only if you can open the doors." An edge of doubt had crept into the words.

Bruised pride had snapped his gaze to Blake, and he'd instantly known it for the mistake it was. Trying to construct a wall of words between them, he'd answered unthinkingly, "I can open every door, blind all the scanners, knock out the security over-rides and control the computer. Control the computer, and you control the ship." He'd looked back at his plan, trying to pretend that he wasn't blind to what was written there, that he wasn't having trouble breathing.

"Then I do need your help."

*******

But in the end it had been sheer luck and blind daring that had provided their escape...at least, that's what he'd told himself. There was no such thing as fate, no superior hand guiding man—nothing was meant to be. Nothing but the chaotic forces of the universe had thrown his lot in with Blake's, had united their lives and bound their destinies one to the other.

Their takeover of this monster ship was some kind of miracle, a once-in-a-life opportunity to leave the misery of the Federation behind and find a safe and peaceful place to live. The relief was overwhelming, almost unbelievable in its magnitude. He was giddy with the possibilities.

As Blake walked up behind him the now familiar ache to be touched settled over him, but Blake's words—just as stupidly idealistic as ever—drove everything but anger from him.

"Follow the _London_ to Cygnus Alpha. Then we can free the rest of the prisoners. With a ship like this and a full crew, then we can start fighting back," Blake said softly.

He whirled to face this man who was so determined to engage the Federation rather than escape from it. Avon didn't know how, but he had to find a way to change this idiot's mind. He had to, or Blake was going to get them killed. This alien ship, with its oddly shaped walls and strangely organic feel, was a wonder beyond anything they had ever encountered. They could go anywhere, anywhere at all.

"You can't do this, Blake! We got away from the Federation, and we're not going back! I refuse to die for your need to be a hero."

"We're going to Cygnus Alpha, whether you want to or not," Blake stated with stubborn certainty. And that's what they did—amazingly fast.

*******

The next weeks were spent in orbit around the inhospitable planet while they waited for the prison transport to arrive. Everything about the ship was alien, from the crew quarters to the food processors to the odd teleport system. Of course, Blake had insisted on trying out everything. The few minutes he'd been planet side testing the teleport system had seemed like an eternity. Although Avon was well aware that teleportation was a reasonable theory, the Federation had abandoned its efforts in that direction—the process too time consuming, the advantages too far distant to excuse the expense. But how they would pay for a working system!

Who were the aliens who'd designed this ship? Apparently, their technology was far in advance of Federation science. The things they could learn from this wondrous piece of equipment! The computer, Zen, alone was so advanced as to be almost beyond comprehension. He was absolutely certain that they knew almost nothing about it, yet. How had these geniuses remained off the Federation's radar? And why? Were they so far out on the opposite rim of the galaxy that no one had encountered them? Then why had this ship been abandoned in the middle of Federation space? And why in all the worlds weren't they using this marvelous gift of fortune to go somewhere, anywhere that the Federation wasn't? And, of course, the answer to that was once again—Blake.

*******

"Are you cold?" Blake's voice assaulted his senses—that rich, deep voice that curled in his mind, weaving spells and dreams, snaked down his spine in waves of desire. He tried to remain still, not react, not feel the overwhelming need that possessed him.

"No, why?" he asked sharply, anger at himself making his words harsh.

"You look cold." Blake grasped his arms from behind, rubbing up and down briskly.

His touch was electric and Avon jumped then jerked away, whirling to face his tormentor with bared teeth and a low snarl.

Blake's eyes widened in surprise. "Did I hurt you?"

"Don't touch me," he spit out with menace, drawing himself further away.

Blake tilted his head a bit, obviously puzzled by this behavior. "What's the matter with you, Avon? Why are you so hard to get along with?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." He turned away and made to leave the flight deck, but was stopped by Blake's words.

"Oh, I think you do. Are you going to deny that this is what you've wanted for a long time?"

And then the strong hands were on him again, turning him, drawing him closer, commanding his will, forcing him to reveal his hidden desires. When Blake's mouth descended on his, he could do nothing but respond, his body flaming into the wild conflagration which had consumed him internally for months. There was nothing in his world except this man—his mouth, his hands, the feel of his body under his own hands. The shrilling sound of an alarm was merely an annoyance, hardly noticed in the overwhelming devastation of the moment, but, unbelievably, he was being pushed away, denied the contact he had craved, rejected. "No…."

"What is it, Zen?" Blake asked, turning toward the flashing fascia. "What's wrong?"

Jenna came running down the stairs to the flight deck. "What's going on, Blake?"

"I have no idea. Zen, what's happening?"

Face flushed in frustration and embarrassment, Avon quickly moved to the weapons' console, hopefully hiding his obvious physical response to Blake. Damn the man to everlasting perdition! Damn the interfering woman! Damn the too alert computer! Damn….

"**Avon!**"

The loud voice finally penetrated his distraction. "What?" he snapped, glaring at Blake across the flight deck. _I will never forgive you, never._

"Did you hear Zen?"

"Zen, clarify." Asking for more information was not an admission of inattention.

~~~~~~

The cabin he had chosen for his own was deliberately located at the far end of the corridor they had selected—the corridor housing living spaces which was closest to the flight deck. Avon would have preferred somewhere as distant from the others as possible, but Blake had insisted they all stay close, at least until they were more familiar with the ship. _Liberator_ was huge, with labyrinthine corridors leading to unknown holds and storerooms, engines and weapons housed in far-flung sections and levels about the ship. Avon had instructed Zen to provide diagrams of each deck and access locations, but they would need weeks to learn them all.

He slumped down on the narrow bed, disgusted with himself. Of all the insane things he'd ever done in his life, that stunt on the flight deck was one of the worst. His self-control was stronger than that; why had he given in to such a self-destructive impulse? He lay back against the pillow, covering his eyes with one arm. What the hell was wrong with him? No sex in a very long time—that was it. And none in the foreseeable future, except his good right hand, which wasn't all that satisfying. Goddamn Blake, anyway, and goddamn a too efficient alarm system.

The unfamiliar sound of the door buzzer startled him and he stood up quickly, his stomach clenching. Another buzz and the muted sound of a voice calling his name. Did he really want to do this? It wasn't as if he could control what happened—once begun there would be no turning back. His body was already reacting, anticipating, wanting….

He hit the release button, watching as the door snicked open revealing Blake. "What do you want?" he snapped, turning away.

"Avon, I think we need to talk." Blake's voice was calm, devoid of emotion.

"And we must all do as you say, mustn't we?" he murmured, looking over his shoulder to meet Blake's eyes. The expression there was wary, even a bit suspicious.

"I'm sorry about—"

"Oh, shut up," he snarled and rounded on Blake, moving quickly to close the distance between them. He grabbed the loose fabric of Blake's tunic and pulled him closer, slipping one hand up into the thick curls. His senses were swamped by the feel and smell of this man he'd wanted for so long. As their mouths met and the fire flashed between them, he knew that he was lost with no hope of redemption.

*******

"We're not leaving him there." Jenna's voice was determined.

He tried to disguise his panic in anger. "We have to. _He's_ a crusader. He'll look upon all this as just one more weapon to use against the Federation, and he can't win. You know he can't win. What do you want to be, rich, or dead?" _Rich, rich, rich, and…alone._ "We might never have this opportunity again," he added quickly, holding up a jewel, appealing to her greed.

"An hour—we'll wait an hour. If he's not back by then, we'll leave."

Her abrupt capitulation left him sick at heart. _No, no…._ "Why? Why wait?" _If you leave now, you can get through this. You can leave the man with no regrets_...heat suffusing, flowing, burning, drenching his soul, his heart, his mind…blinding his eyes, stopping his ears, fogging his intellect…_you can go on your own without him, free…._

"Because that way I can convince myself that we gave him a fair chance. If he's not back by then...." Jenna turned away from him.

He closed his fist around the gems he held until the sharp edges cut painfully into his flesh and whispered, "All right."

*******

Well, they'd collected the rest of their crew, if you could call it that—a cowardly thief, a dim strongman, and another outcast idealistic rebel. What a group. And Blake thought he was going to take on the Federation with this ragtag band of criminals and misfits—all the mind tampering had obviously left the man an idiot or insane.

The day had been long, full of stress and peril, without the reward of success. That had seemed to be their fate these past several weeks—nothing working out, all their efforts fruitless. Each of them reacted to the repeated failures in their own way. Cally, normally quiet, became silent, face drawn, eyes wide. Vila's complaining stopped, drowned in the constant fog of intoxication. Jenna was stiletto sharp, her lovely face creased in a never-ending frown of dissatisfaction. Blake, too, was mostly silent, preoccupied and tense, his hands frequently pressed to his temples in reaction to the almost constant headache he suffered. And then there was Avon—ice that burned, fire that froze—no one was safe.

"I will _not_ be sacrificed for your rabble, do you hear me? My life is worth more to me than that, even if it is not to you." The anger was real and obvious, but beneath it was the deep despair that months of risky behavior, barely escaping with their lives time after time, brought.

"Don't be ridiculous, Avon. You're not in anymore danger than the rest of us."

Blake's voice held a faintly patronizing note, whether by accident or on purpose, that was impossible for Avon to ignore—and he didn't even try. Without thought, he struck out, hitting Blake hard on the jaw, sending the bigger man reeling. He watched as Blake stumbled against the navigation console and fell backward down the steps to the next level, cracking his head smartly on the base of the weapons station. A kind of thrill ran through him at the sight, followed by a small niggle of fear when Blake lay still.

"Are you insane?"

"For god's sake, Avon! Don't we have enough problems?"

Vila and Gan shoved past Avon and bent down to check on Blake, who sat up, hand to his head. Avon stormed off the flight deck, cursing Blake and then himself for letting the man disturb him to that extent. He had to get off this damn ship, take his share of the treasure room and leave—leave this chaos, leave _him._

*******

But he hadn't left—not then, not ever. Oh, he'd tried, but none of the attempts had been successful, maybe not even serious. Because the question still remained—how did you love and hate someone at the same time? Well...perhaps it wasn't love at all, but just lust—physical need and urgency, unattached to any emotional reality. If so then anyone would do, wouldn't they? How was he to account for his need to keep this particular body safe? Why was it so important to him? Why? The body certainly wasn't the best he'd known, not by a large measure. And the mind that went with the body certainly wasn't the sharpest he had encountered. So, why? Why did he care, even while he was filled with rage? And he was filled with rage—black, bitter, all-consuming rage. Damn him! Damn his stupid cause and damn his self-important role in that cause. Blake wanted to die, obviously, and was determined to take as many of his blind followers with him as possible. And still, Blake insisted he loved him. But if you loved someone, surely you tried to keep them safe, not recklessly throw that life into peril over and over again.

*******

"Blake." The one word was the summation—both curse and blessing—of his life. Injuries protesting, he managed to stand, although he didn't refuse the strong arm that reached out to steady him. "You came back." His voice was maddeningly weak and shaky, the words not quite the indifferent sneer he'd intended.

He was pulled into a tight embrace, suffering the pain gladly.

"Did you really think I'd leave you here?" Blake asked softly, his face buried in Avon's hair.

"Why not?" he whispered, his senses drowning in the reality that was Blake—the warmth, the familiar scents of spice and musk, the deep, comforting rumble of his voice.

"Avon...I love you, damn it, that's why not!"

The words were accompanied by a small shake, as if to make him pay attention. But old habits die a long and difficult death. "Don't you mean you need me?"

"That, too. What's the difference?" Blake held him away a bit, fastening a teleport bracelet on his wrist.

"And if I weren't useful to you?" He wanted the arms to pull him close again, the heart to beat beneath his ear, the mouth to claim his, reality to shift.

"Oh, Avon, why do you make everything so complicated? I don't—"

"Blake, have you got him? We have to get out of here!" Jenna's voice, clear and urgent, came through the bracelet communicators.

Blake raised his left arm and spoke to Jenna while his right arm encircled Avon. "Bring us up."

They appeared on the teleport pad and Cally stood up from the console and hurried around to help support Avon. "Let's get him to the medical unit. Are you hurt anywhere specifically, Avon?"

He only shook his head and turned a pleading look on Blake, who said, "It's all right, Cally. Why don't you go on to the flight deck in case Jenna needs help? I'll take care of Avon," as if that made sense.

But he breathed a quiet sigh of relief when Cally left after giving Blake a questioning look. He leaned more heavily on Blake to stay upright.

"What exactly did they do to you, Avon?" Blake asked quietly.

He shook his head again, not willing to talk about the last day and a half, just wanting to forget everything as quickly as possible. Luckily, the med unit was quite near the teleport bay and was reached quickly where he collapsed onto the diagnostic bed.

He was silent as Blake fussed with the medcomputer and scanner and helped him out of his torn and dirty clothes. There was no hiding the extent of his injuries from Blake and he heard the sharply indrawn breath when they were first revealed, but at least it wasn't Cally trying to pretend medical distance while flooding him with unwanted emotions. He winced as Blake began cleaning the more serious of the lacerations. "I don't suppose you could...skip this part—" He gasped and bit his lip as the disinfectant touched a particularly tender torn area on his abdomen.

"I'm sorry. I know it hurts, but the wounds have to be cleaned. Cally could probably do this better."

"No," he said quietly and turned his head to stare at the wall, his jaw clenched against the next anticipated agony. When nothing happened, he turned his head back and found Blake looking at him with unbearable sympathy. "Don't," he snapped. "It happened, it's over, now get this done with so I can forget about it."

"Avon, I—"

"Not now...please," he held Blake's gaze until he finally nodded in acceptance and carried on. _Not now, not later, not ever. Can't you understand? I'm an acceptable loss, a someday casualty of your oh-so-precious cause. Why did you risk saving me when you're only going to throw me back tomorrow?_ He was dizzy with pain, exhausted beyond endurance, and when he felt a tranquilizer disk placed on his forehead he welcomed the oblivion. Darkness and silence held no pain and asked no questions.

*******

He awoke slowly, confused and muzzy-brained, unsure of his surroundings until he managed to focus on the medical apparatus hovering above him—the regenerator. Memory rushed back as he turned his head and caught sight of Blake reading a datapad. "Why are you still here?"

"Avon! Are you all right?' Blake laid the datapad aside and stood up to check the regenerator settings.

"Obviously not," he answered quietly, turning his head aside. He noticed the parts of his body not covered by the regenerator were draped with blankets—another unasked for comfort.

"Are you still in pain?"

"Yes, but it isn't too bad." He met Blake's concerned gaze, the warmth in the honey eyes almost his undoing. He closed his own eyes against the desire to reach out for the touch he craved. "You don't have to stay here, although I'd appreciate it if you would bring me something to put on so I can go back to my cabin."

Blake's hand descended on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Avon, look at me."

He complied reluctantly, knowing he was going to regret this, like he always did.

"I know you blame me for what happened to you, and I can't tell you how sorry I am that it took us so long to get back for you. You have to know I would have done anything to have this not happen to you."

The deep voice thrummed through him, soothing the hurt, easing the terrible darkness of spirit that had settled over him during those endless hours of torture and captivity. Damn Blake! "Why? It's not as if you'll stop what you're doing. Nothing will change. Nothing ever does."

"Avon...."

"What? Do you really expect me to believe you won't risk my life again the next time you think up some hair-brained scheme to harass the Federation? So what's the point of all the sympathy and apologies? Just leave." He turned his head away, waiting for the warm hand to lift and Blake to walk away. Neither happened.

"I will never again make you go on any mission you don't choose to go on."

He met the sincere gaze with skepticism. "Why now? Afraid I'll really leave this time?"

"No. You've always been free to leave. I...I can't bear to see you hurt like this. You've no idea how frightened I was when we couldn't get to you. Whatever you think, Avon, I do love you; I always have."

*******

Strangely enough, despite all his skepticism, Blake never again ordered him on any mission, but always asked or waited for him to volunteer his services. The few times that he didn't go, Blake never pushed, although Avon could see his disappointment. That disappointment alone was often enough to make him reverse his decision and always caused an almost debilitating guilt if he tried to concentrate on anything other than what was happening to Blake on whatever planet below. It soon became evident to him that it was easier to protect Blake himself than to rely on others he didn't fully trust to keep him safe. Because he did love the stubborn fool, no matter how he had tried to deny it, loved him obsessively. He had essentially given dominion over his soul, if he possessed such a thing, to the one person in the universe who could destroy it. It was particularly difficult when Blake took risks for no purpose other than curiosity, and he told himself the idiot deserved whatever happened to him.

" ...I am not expendable, I'm not stupid, and I'm not going." Such decisive words from such an indecisive soul. Of course, when they had all gone down in a futile attempt to rescue the others from whatever trap Horizon held, he was faced with the most difficult decision of all. There was no word from any of them for hours—they were most assuredly dead—_Liberator_ was his alone; ORAC assured him he could survive on his own, and nothing remained for him, nothing. The tearing agony of loss was isolated and sealed away in a dark corner to be guarded against at all costs—he needed no one, no one at all. When the pursuit ships appeared out of nowhere, the irony was almost too perfect, and he laughed and laughed and laughed before he armed himself and teleported down to save Fearless Leader one more time.


End file.
